Journal of a Fleeing Blade
by legomaster00156
Summary: My name is Revan Ebonheart. I was once a Blade, but after The Great War, I am not certain I can hold to that title. This journal records my struggles and adventures as I flee and fight the Thalmor, the agents of my destruction. I am on the run from death, and this is a race I do not plan to lose.
1. Cloud Ruler Temple

Entry 1.

If you are reading this journal, it likely means that my time has arrived. I can only hope that I died in battle, and I am now serving the Nine in a higher place.

My name is Revan Ebonheart. I am a Redguard. Despite this, my family has long lived in Cyrodiil, serving the Empire with our lives. This is because I am the latest in a long line of Blades, the sworn protectors of the Emperors. Or at least, we did before the death of Martin Septim, last of the Dragonborn emperors. Since then, we have fought on the side of the Empire, but never swore allegiance to them.

Less than a month ago, The Great War ended. We aided the Empire in a terrible fight against the Thalmor, a powerful clan of High Elves who siezed control of the Summerset Isles. The peace treaty that they called the White-Gold Concordat sealed the fate of the Blades, letting those damn elves hunt us down without fear of repercussion.

I was one of thirty Blades posted at Cloud Ruler Temple when the treaty was signed. We had not been expecting an attack, as the Thalmor arrived before a courier could. The Thalmor may have killed the courier for the element of surprise. I don't know. What I do know is that in less than 24 hours, we saw a horde of Thalmor marching on the fortress from the west, obviously having come from eastern Hammerfell. There were no less than 400 of them, with a dozen seige engines to boot. We knew not of the treaty yet, so we naturally prepared our arms. It was stated in legend that Cloud Ruler Temple could hold itself against an army, and it was now time to put that to the test.

Seige engines aren't often a problem when it comes to Cloud Ruler Temple. The steep path up the mountain it resides on, along with clear lines of sight for our archers, make even getting them up a treacherous strategy. These Thalmor had obviously come prepared, though, as they had mages escorting the engines and protecting it with wards. We could only delay them, not stop them.

By the time they had finally climbed to the peak, we had managed to shoot down about 30 of the Thalmor, roughly speaking. One of the engines, a battering ram, was brought to bear against our door, while catapults and ballistae bombarded our walls. It was already looking grim. For once in my life, I truly knew fear... and exhilaration.

I was ordered by Blademaster Moru-gon, a Khajit, to go aid Esbern in gathering scrolls from the armory. Together, we managed to pick up appropriate Destruction spells to utterly demolish the battering ram, before it could do any significant damage to our door. I wouldn't know the name, as I am certainly no mage. I just found the scrolls. However, by the time the battering ram was down, they had lined up seige ladders to our walls, and were climbing them to fight our archers.

We rushed to the aid of the archers, even as they were being cut down. The significant lack of any true mages, besides Esbern and... maybe three others didn't aid our cause.

We couldn't bring down the machines in time. I was locked in battle against two foes, wielding my Akaviri katanas, when the retreat horn sounded. I finished them off as quickly as I could, though with no small number of wounds to myself, before rushing to the open doors. Three of my comrades were holding off the Thalmor as best they could to buy us time. May Arkay rest their souls.

I don't know for certain how many of my fellow Blades escaped. We ended up splitting up as we fled into the wilderness, though I believe I saw our Blademaster briefly in the woods as I fled. Only when I was satisfied that I could rest did I do a full-body examination of my injuries. To my surprise, a Thalmor blade had crossed my back and torn off a terrible chunk of my flesh. I hadn't even felt the injury during my adrenaline rush, which I suppose is what they mean when they say that an excited Redguard feels no pain.

I had no knowledge of healing spells, but I had some knowledge of alchemy. It is a talet that has run in my family for even longer than we have served the Empire as Blades. I found the appropriate ingredients to cook up a basic healing potion: some wheat and blue mountain flower. I wasn't too surprised to find them so common around the area, as I am almost certain I had crossed the border into Skyrim by that point. I felt reinvigorated as I downed the potion, though I had little love for the taste. I could feel the potion take effect quickly, healing my injuries and leaving scars in their places.

Since that night, my dreams have been haunted by the faces of my fallen friends. I pray every night to the Divines of bring me relief, or even Vaermina once to show mercy upon me, but no mercy comes. I heard about the White-Gold Concordat's terms in a village called Helgen, though I stayed there only shortly before moving on. It was clear that my time as a servant of the Empire was over, and my time as a refugee had began.


	2. Skyrim, Part 1

Entry 2

I am currently hidden out within the small town of Falkreath. I have asked the innkeeper to safeguard my katanas. The last ting I need right now is for their structure to be recognized as Akaviri katanas, since as I write this, a patrol of five Thalmor "Justiciars" are looking through the city for Blades and shrines of Talos. They're confiscating and destroying any such shrines that they find. Despicable, truly. I'm just waiting for one of these Nords to stand up and punch one of these elves.

Hah, oh, wow, one actually did. Just saw them trying to confiscate the shrine from right here in this inn. He's

(Several bloodstains dot this next spot, before the writing picks up several lins worth of page later.)

I can't believe it. I'm truly stunned by these Thalmor, even after everything I've seen. After the innkeeper punched the Justiciar, that damn elf responded with lethal force. I watched him murdered in front of my eyes. I lost control completely, and I attacked back in the brave Nord's stead. The Thalmor is dead, but the wife of the late innkeeper is having to hide me in a secret compartment in the wall as the rest of them investigate their ally's death. The poor woman is pinning the blame of the death upon her own husband...

Ok, I'm out. I apologized profusely to the widow, but she merely gave me my katanas and get out of town... and that Talos would guide my path. I can only hope she was right. I'm traveling farther north, near as I can tell. She warned me to keep off of the western roads to Hammerfell, as Thalmor reinforcements are headed that way to aid in the fight against my fellow Redguards. Apparently, if I keep onward, I'll reach the Whiterun hold, and may even beat the Thalmor to it. Maybe more Blades are hiding out there. it would be good to see a familiar face, or at least a friendly one.

Entry 3

I'm in Whiterun, now. I've taken my room in a lovely little inn called The Bannered Mare. The innkeeper seems a bit stressed, since she's running the whole place by yourself and everyone is still recovering from The Great War. No Thalmor are around, so I've relaxed slightly. Obviously, I'm still wary of spies and assassins, though, and the day that I drop my guard completely is the day I deserve to die.

I've spoken with the local Guild Hall here. Well, strictly speaking, it's not a Guild. The Fighter's Guild has no presence here in Skyrim. They call themselves the Companions, the heirs of Ysgramor. They seem rather disorganized on the outside, but looking further into it, I discovered that they will defend each other with valor that is almost... feral.

I plan to speak to the Jarl, Balgruuf, later today. For now, I'm sitting on a bench at the local armory as they work on forging me two new blades. My ceremonial Akaviri swords, while I greatly loved them, have no place with me while I'm pretending not to be a Blade. They are being reforged.

It's complete. I now have two longswords, forged from the metal of my old blades. I think it really helps me, because although the shape and wield is different, it still feels the same. As if the souls of my swords are still there. I also bought a hunting bow and about 20 iron arrows. Don't want to starve out there in the wild, after all.

Now I'm in the alchemy shop, run by a lady named Arcadia. Well, that's what she says, but I can't help thinking that I'm not being told the full truth. I don't have much gold on me, especially after paying for the reforging, but I'm only here for recipe lists. She has available lists for a slowing poison and a potion to replenish magic. I'm only taking the first.

I have no septims remaining in my purse, so I think I'll go arrange for a meeting with the Jarl.

It has been many hours since I began today's entry, and the sun is setting. I had permission to approach the throne of Jarl Balgruuf, and we discussed together the issues that the end of the Great War will bring. He told me that he was concerned that the banning of Talos worship may inspire some of the more devout worshippers into open rebellion, but that he was much more worried about the ceding of the southern portion of Hammerfell to the Thalmor. He thought my kin may decide to fight back against this part of the treaty, when what we need more than anything now is stability. I personally disagreed, though it may have just been my hatred of the Thalmor staining my opinions. I think that Hammerfell should be free of Thalmor control, though I admit that I doubt the Redguards' abilities to hold off the Thalmor from invasion.

Naturally, the hunting of the Blades also came up in our conversation. While he respected my opinion that they were a force for the Empire, he felt that we hadn't really done much since the Oblivion Crisis and the death of Martin Septim. He did agree, though, that ordering our disbandment and execution was unnecessary further bloodshed.

Well, I must now rest. I pray to the Divines for protection in my sleep.

Entry 3

I'm on the run again. Thalmor started investigating Whiterun, and they identified me as a Blade through extensive allowance into Imperial records. I cut down the small party of three in The Bannered Mare and vaulted over the walls to escape. I don't even know which direction I'm going anymore, though I'm certain I'm traveling further and further into the heart of Skyrim. As I write this, a healing potion is brewing over a campfire. I'm hiding out in some old ruins, which the local bandits are calling Dwemer ruins. I didn't even realize those old dwarves had such impressive... whatever this place was. I'll leave all that kind of stuff to the mages.

Oh, right, the bandits. I found a group of... suspiciously hospitable ones here, who are letting me stay the night. I don't trust them as far as I can throw them, obviously, but they promised to warn me if any Thalmor approached. I'm rather rightfully keeping my own eyes and ears peeled, though.

Huh? What's that sound? It sounds like... machinery. And it's getting closer.


End file.
